


The Number's On The Wall Tonight

by zellieh



Category: due South
Genre: Adrenaline Junkies, Angry Sex, Angst, Angst and Humor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Chicago - Freeform, Co-workers, Cock Tease, Consent Issues, Daddy Issues, Danger Kink, Desperation, Detectives, Dom/sub Undertones, Driving, Exhibitionism, First Time, Flirting, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Happy Ending, Hats, Identity Issues, Identity Porn, Leather Kink, M/M, Manhandling, Mild Kink, Mounties (RCMP), Police, Police Uniforms, Public Sex, Uniform Kink, Uniforms, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 04:14:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/605698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zellieh/pseuds/zellieh
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Under the Mountie suit, there's Fraser — and this took Ray's instincts a long time to figure out, but he's a great detective, so he got there in the end, as soon as he stopped listening to what the Mountie was saying when he was lying by telling the wrong truths — under the Fraser who tried to be good and moral and true and everything a Mountie should be, there's Ben.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Number's On The Wall Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Started (back in 2006) for the [**get_fraser_laid**](http://get-fraser-laid.livejournal.com/) challenge, prompt 253: lyrics from ‘Number on the Wall,’ by The Hugh Dillon Redemption Choir: "Living in the night, you know I understand it; / Buried in my heart, you know it's heavy-handed. / You ever get the sense that you’ve run out of chances? / I don’t really know, it’s just the number on the wall tonight"
> 
> Beta’d by [**ignazwisdom**](http://www.dreamwidth.org/profile?user=ignazwisdom), who was very helpful. Thanks! All remaining mistakes are my own.

When the EMT’s and backup arrived, Ray left Huey and Dewey to handle the perps and — since they were still holding hands, right there in public, like Fraser always fucking grabbed Ray at every fucking crime scene, like being Canadian meant personal space was for other people — just marched off, dragging Fraser behind him, as far as he could up the alley and around the corner, before shoving the fucking Mountie up against the wall, hard. 

That was it — Ray'd finally had it. _Enough._

The fat lady had been singing for a while and tonight Ray had finally had enough of her stupid song. Crazy fucking Mountie. 

Fraser looked from him to the crowd just visible at the end of the alley, their long sunset shadows reaching up the alley towards them, and opened his mouth to say something. Ray slammed his hand over Fraser's mouth. "Shut up! Just — just, shut the fuck up!" 

How many times had Ray heard Fraser say that Mounties don't lie? It'd taken him a while, but he finally realised that that was not the same thing as saying that Mounties always tell the truth. Close, but no cigar. Time for him to stop listening to Fraser and start listening to his instincts, which weren't always right, except they never lied to him like Fraser did when he told the truth. 

Ray's instincts had been telling him _lots_ of things about the Mountie, Fraser's public face — or facade, to be more accurate. Ray had no idea how you pronounced 'facade' — the Mountie would know, and if Ray ever wanted a lecture on the history of French words in English, he'd ask — but the point was, the Mountie's a front, a belief system, a duty and a job, but the Mountie's not all Fraser is. 

Because under the Mountie suit, there's Fraser — and this took Ray's instincts a long time to figure out, but he's a great detective, so he got there in the end, as soon as he stopped listening to what the Mountie was saying when he was lying by telling the wrong truths — _under the Fraser who tried to be good and moral and true and everything a Mountie should be, there's_ Ben.

And when Ray gets hurt, the Mountie checks he's not gonna die, Fraser brings him grapes to ward off scurvy or whatever — but Ben holds Ray's hand until the nurses start asking after his _'partner'_.

And when Ray's throwing up, for drunken, Stella-related reasons, the Mountie gets him a bucket, Fraser holds his head — and when he's almost asleep, safely propped up in bed in the recovery position so he won't choke in the night, thanks to Fraser's kindness and the Mountie's First Aid training, it's Ben who tucks the blanket up around him. It's Ben who leaves the butterfly touch of a silent, maybe-almost-certainly-a-kiss on Ray's cheek.

And whenever Ray tries to talk about it, this thing they maybe almost have between them, it's Ben who goes into hiding, Fraser who talks about the value of comradeship and deep, intimate friendship, and the Mountie who spots a crime happening half a mile away and races off in hot pursuit of the mugger, the burglar, the car thief, the Chinese medicine smuggling ring, the international arms dealers, the two confused tourists from Seattle... and, once, on a slow-crime day, when Ray'd dragged Fraser into an actual park, hoping the greenness would work some Nature magic on Ben and Fraser and the Mountie... once, when Ray's almost certain the Mountie almost cracked, he'd suddenly raced off — after an actual honest-to-God _kitten up a fucking tree._

Leaving Ray behind, alone.

Because he doesn't need to check that Ray's following, because they have this almost-something almost between them, so _of course_ Ray'll follow Fraser.

Which of course Ray does, _every goddamn time._

And when the Mountie jumps off a building, and Fraser gets hurt, it's Ben who gives Ray these thankful, almost amazed looks when Ray cares for him, and the Mountie lets Ray check his injuries, and Fraser lets Ray touch as much as he needs to, to reassure himself that Fraser's alive and whole, but it's Ben who subtly arches up into all his touches like a cat, and Ben who holds onto Ray's hand until people start to stare, and maybe even a minute or five after that. 

Because when one or both of them are injured, bleeding — those are pretty much the only times when Ray gets to see Ben, gets to touch Ben. The only times when Ben feels free enough to touch Ray back.

And — and it took Ray a shockingly long time to notice this; really, he's disgusted with his lack of detective skills, here — but those're also the only times when Fraser looks anything like lustfully at Ray. Because Fraser's damned good at caring, caring for the whole world sometimes, and Ben's got the market on killer, soulful looks cornered, but lust? Passion? Arousal? 

Any sign that Fraser might just grab Ray and bend him over his arm in a swooning kiss, like Fred Astaire kissing Ginger Rogers — not that Ray's ever, y'know, fantasised about that or anything, but being in a celibate monogamous relationship with a drop-dead gorgeous guy he's not actually even dating has done some strange things to Ray's head and his heart, because the Mountie likes to spread the crazy around — well, any sign like that, that's always after they've done something crazy-dangerous.

Like jumping off a building.

Just like he did today. _Again._

After the Mountie jumped off a perfectly good building, _through a window_. Again.

And Ray jumped after him, without looking. _Again._

_And Fraser didn't say a single goddamn word about it. Again._

Fraser's an award-winning, record-breaking, gold-fucking-medallist at staying silent about anything that matters, and Ray's had _enough._

Ray eyed his partner, the way he looked like this perfect and angelic ideal Mountie in the golden sunset glow, even leaned up against a dirty old brick wall in a Chicago alley, and asked, "You calm, Fraser? You look calm." 

Fraser quirked an eyebrow at him, opened his mouth, hesitated at whatever he saw in Ray’s eyes, and closed it again. _Clever_ Mountie. Ray backed up a little so he could pace, keeping Fraser pinned with his half-circle of three tense steps one way, and then three tense steps back; and his tense voice too. Hell, even his lungs felt tense, breathing like lifting weights. 

"'Course you’re calm. No reason to get excited, you’re just doing your job, right? Jumping onto speeding cars and trucks and trains and _ice-cream vans,_ , off buildings, _through windows._. No biggie, nothing to see here folks, move along please. Everything’s cool, everything’s calm, right?" 

Fraser blinked at him, blank-faced, and – and looking so _fucking_ calm. You wouldn't think the guy just _jumped off a building._ Again. That was fine, though; Ray was feeling enough mixed-up emotions for any three normal people. He wanted to punch Fraser; he wanted to kiss him; he wanted...damn! 

Ray whirled away from Fraser, scrubbing a hand through his hair, then turned back to him, taking two quick angry steps right up into his personal space, until they were chest to chest. Groin to groin. And, yeah, there it was — the truth, finally: Fraser’s hard cock, digging into his hip. 

Ray hadn’t got so hard so fast since he was a teenager, and he couldn’t resist brushing his cock against Fraser’s.

Fraser’s eyes widened, and he opened his mouth again. Ray slammed a hand across his mouth — that was getting to be a habit — and checked out the crowd just around the corner of the building. Sure, they were at the other end of the alley, and him and Fraser were mostly tucked back around a corner and sorta into an alcove besides, but the crowd were still all there — just visible and extremely audible, and several of 'em nosy enough to walk up looking for them if they loitered around too long here.

He looked back at Fraser, noting his dilated pupils and the soft breaths panting fast against his fingers, then pulled his hand off of Fraser’s mouth and laid a single gentle finger over his lips. "Parade rest, Constable," he said, quietly, "and take off your hat." 

Fraser took off the Stetson and held it uncertainly in his right hand, waist-high. Ray reached out and lowered the hat arm until it was at crotch level. Perfect. Fraser blinked at him, aroused and confused, looking a little naked somehow without his magic hat to protect him and hide his eyes. _The eyes are the windows to the soul,_ Ray thought, and tapped a quick tango beat against his thigh, feeling jittery and oddly calm all at once.

Ray rested his left hand on Fraser's shoulder, pushing him back into the bricked up window alcove, pushing him right back against the wall, ran his right hand down the prickly serge, and up under the tunic, curving his fingers around Fraser’s cock through his weird pants. Fraser's breath hitched, his chest pushing against Ray when he drew in a trembling breath, and Ray smiled, slowly, as Fraser flushed and started to sweat. _Not so calm now, Mountie._

"So what was the best part, Fraser? Was it standing there, about to jump?" 

Fraser licked his lips, eyeing him warily. 

"Or the landing, when you rolled up to your feet, and realised you weren’t dead?" 

That made Fraser close his eyes and sort of whimper. 

"Or — no, it was the fall, right? The wind, the fall, thinking maybe you made a mistake, BAM! — that’s all she wrote." 

Fraser's eyes snapped open, black, pupils blown, and he _shuddered_ against Ray. 

_Bingo._

Ray grinned, savagely. _Oh, yeah._ Bingo, jackpot – he just broke the bank of Monte-fucking-Cristo. Las Vegas: zero, Ray's instincts: about a zillion and ten. 

"Falling. You like taking risks; it’s a turn on, right?" Ray stroked Fraser's cock, and nodded his head at the end of the alley, just visible around the corner of the building, lots of people milling around, tiredly doing their jobs at the end of a long day. "You ever taken a risk like this before?" Ray said, fingers stroking, stroking, stroking, "ever risked it all for sex?" 

Fraser started babbling nervously. "Well, that depends on your definition of..." 

Ray gave him the eye, twisted his fingers _just so,_ and Fraser gasped again. "No. Well, yes, but. No, I. Not like this." Fraser shifted his weight, which coincidentally pushed him up against Ray, pushed his cock into Ray’s hand. Oh yeah, Ray could work with this. This was a song he could dance to. 

"So, Fraser — should I call you Fraser now? Feels kind of weird, calling you that, now that I’ve got my hand on your cock. Formal. What should I call you, Fraser-Frase-Benton-Benny-Ben?" 

"Ah, Ben. Please, call me Ben," Fraser said, desperately polite. 

"Okay, Ben." Wow, Ray’d made Mr. Thesaurus monosyllabic. He wondered how long it’d take to make Fraser forget his manners completely. "So, Ben — how do you feel about semi-public sex?" Ray narrowed his eyes as he looked Fraser — Ben — over, thinking. He smirked a little, and enjoyed the way Ben’s eyes widened, the way he shifted uneasily, his cock twitching in Ray’s hand, his shoulders pressing back into the bricks. “That wasn’t a no, was it, Ben? It may not have been a clear, verbal, polysyllabic endorsement, but that definitely was not a no.” Ray looked at him challengingly, and Ben licked his lips and stayed silent. 

_Jackpot._

Ray lowered his voice, lowered his eyes, and peeked up at Ben through his lashes. Ben had some kinks in him, some surprising hot-buttons...it made Ray wonder what other kinks he had, and how he'd react if Ray managed to hit some of those hidden hot-spots. He didn't really think Ben was a player, but that was okay — in the disastrous period after his divorce, Ray'd gotten enough experience for any dozen repressed Mounties. So, Ray'd go with what he knew, lay it all out there, what he'd done, what turned him on... 

"So, _Ben_ , you ever said, fuck it, I'm bisexual, I feel like some sex, I know where the gay clubs are, and just pulled on a tight muscle shirt and some spray-on jeans and walked into a club and picked up some stranger, some strange guy? Maybe he’s tall, dark-haired, blue eyes?" Because, okay, maybe Ray had a type when it came to men: tall, broad-shouldered, muscular... oh, and don't forget _hazardous to Ray's mental health_.

Because, damn, Ray'd made some mistakes in his life, yeah — but even after all this trouble, he didn't think Fraser was one of them. So Ray leaned forward into Fraser, crowding him, keeping the eye contact, challenging. "Maybe he’s bigger than you. Broader." Ray flexed his hand on Fraser’s — Ben’s — shoulder. "Except he’s maybe wearing leather, tight black leather pants, and he smells good. Smells something like...what's that oil you rub on all your leather, _Ben_?" 

"Ah." It took Fraser a moment to focus, as Ray's other hand was still moving, stroking, fondling. "Neatsfoot oil, Ray." 

"Right, right." Ray leaned in close to Ben’s neck and sniffed the strap of the Sam Browne where it went under the epaulette. Licked it. 

Ben sucked in a breath, gasped _"Ray,"_ and closed his eyes. 

Ray danced a victorious little shuffle step — because he was _this-close_ to winning the fucking _Lottery_ — and rubbed up against Fraser’s body, whispering in Ben's ear: "Maybe he's strong, stronger than you are, like maybe he could take you." Ben gasped again at that, a little whimper of breath. Oh, _yeah._ "Maybe you don't care that he could take you," pressing his hand harder against Ben’s cock, Ben pressing back against him, "maybe you _want_ him to take you; just throw you up against a wall and _take_ you, the hell with the risks." 

Ben's eyes snapped open, _"Ray,"_ and Ray let go, stepped back — because yeah, sometimes he really was a bastard — and he licked his lips, deliberately, and looked the Mountie up and down, real slow. Ben's hand clenched into a fist, crumpling up the Stetson's brim, and his other hand shook a little as he tried to straighten his tunic, glowing red from the sunset like it was lit from within, like it was on _fire._

"How many windows overlook this alley, Ben?" 

Ben frowned at him, but the answer came automatically from the Mountie, always professional, always on duty, without Ben even looking around — "Twelve" — and suddenly Ray was angry again, because did that include the window Dief had jumped out of? The one Ray had jumped out of? The one the crazy fucking Mountie had jumped _through,_ giving him that tiny little cut on his neck _right by his fucking jugular?_

Two sharp steps forward, finger jabbing into Fraser's chest, poking at the Mountie's blood-red uniform; the other hand snaking under it, cradling Ben’s cock again, holding on. "How many of them can see us, here, breaking all those public indecency laws, me doing you right up against this wall?" Ben’s hips jerked, and Ray set his knee between Fraser’s thighs, pushed up, flexed his thigh muscles. "How many people going to phone it in like good little law-abiding citizens? How many, Ben?" 

The Mountie closed his eyes, and Ben shivered, panting hard, as Ray unfastened his pants and slipped his hand over starched boxers, under them; as Ray's hand _stroked._

"We-ell," Ben said, voice stuttering to the rhythm of Ray's hand, "there... there are _eight..._ eight win _dows_ with... with a _clear_ view—" 

Ray leaned in, into the shadows, and whispered in his ear, "Going to arrest me, Ben? For doing _this,"_ and he tightened his hand, using the twist-flick that he knew worked every time, on every guy he'd ever tried it on, and Ben moaned, "right out in front of the EMT's and the duck boys?" 

Ben shuddered, hard, all over, cheeks and ears flushed bright red, and bit his lip. _"Ray."_

"Got a handkerchief, Constable Fraser?" 

_"Yes."_ And, oh, that was Ben's sex-voice, because Ray'd _never_ heard the Mountie sound anything like that before.

And of course Fraser had a real, cotton handkerchief tucked away. Ray admired the line of Ben’s flushed cheekbones as Ben looked down, the way he paused, startled, and sucked in a sharp breath when he saw Ray’s hand moving under his tunic, and then Ben found his handkerchief and handed it over. 

"Yes, _here,_ " he said, nodding; desperate. _”Right here, Ray.”_

Ray shook it out, and started folding it one-handed — slowly, teasingly, because Ben was cute like this, with his knees locked and his back arching helplessly as he tried not to thrust into Ray’s hand, one hand crumpling the Stetson's brim and the other crumpling Ray's sleeve. "RCMP issue you with these?" 

Ben blinked at him, and clenched his fist on Ray's arm. "No. It, it was my father’s." 

"Oh." _Oh shit_ , thought Ray. "You want me to try and find a napkin or something? Or, you know, we could stop—" 

"NO!" Ben grabbed his wrist, looking a little wild-eyed, and licked his lips. "No. Use it. Do it, Ray." 

_Oh._ Ray smiled, slow and dirty — who knew the Mountie was so kinky under all those buttons and straps? — tightened his grip, and leaned in to whisper in Ben’s ear. "What would your father say if he could see you now, Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP, having public sex, with a man, in an alleyway, in the uniform?" Ben whimpered, and his cock twitched in Ray’s hand. "You're such a bad boy, Ben. Are the duck boys coming?" 

Ray felt Ben shudder at the question — the reminder, the tease — and admired the sweaty line of Ben’s neck as Fraser turned his head and leaned forward — leaning all his weight on Ray, pushing his cock _hard_ into Ray's hand — as the Mountie looked round the corner to check out the crowd at the end of the alley. 

"N-No," Ben said, a hitch in Fraser’s voice, in his breath coming in gasps as he looked down at Ray, still leaning up against him. 

"Good." Ray grinned again, muscled the Mountie — Ben — back against the wall, like they were dancing; and Ray _loved_ the vertical expression of horizontal desires. Since Fraser's neck was right there and still deliciously sweaty, Ray chanced a quick lick along his neck, just above the dried blood from the scabbing cut. “How about you, Ben? You ready to come yet?” Ray pumped his hand, too gently and too slow, and Ben moaned. “No? How about if I do _this?"_

Ben gasped and closed his eyes, bit his lip; suddenly his free hand was tight on Ray’s biceps, his other hand white-knuckled on the Stetson. Ray grinned wolfishly, and leaned in, bracing Ben’s body with hand and knee, stroking Ben’s cock hard and fast, watching the Mountie — _Ben_ — sweat and twist and moan under his hands. 

Ben’s eyes snapped open, pupils blown wide with desire, and Ray could see how close he was, how beautiful he was, how beautifully alive, and he wanted _skin_ and _space_ and _time_ ; he wanted to take Ben home, and he wanted— 

"Ben—" 

Ray wanted _everything_.

He tightened his grip, sped up his strokes, breathing in sync with Ben, breathless, waiting, watching... 

Ben shuddered and finally lost control enough to thrust hard into Ray’s hand as he came, yelling “RAY!”, and Ray smiled a fierce, triumphant smile. His name. _His._

Ben’s head dropped onto his shoulder, and he shivered against Ray’s chest, in his arms, as Ray propped the Mountie up, holding him steady against the wall and through the aftershocks. Ray held him up, held him close, murmuring reassurances about how amazing he was into Ben's ear, against his hair. Whispering promises about what he was going to do to Ben — what they were going to do to each other — when they got home to Ray’s apartment, to Ray’s bed. 

Gently, Ray wiped Ben’s cock and tucked it away, fastening Ben’s pants and straightening the uniform, stroking Ben’s chest, inhaling the smell of sweat and sex, Fraser’s soap, neatsfoot oil, and leather. Ray shuddered, once, and stepped away, tugging on Ben’s arm. “C’mon, Ben. Let’s go home.” 

Ben straightened up and blinked dazed eyes, swept a hot look over Ray’s body from head to toe, and licked his lips. “I—. Yes, home.” He smiled at Ray, sweet and bright, glowing in the last light of the setting sun. Ray smiled back, smiled so wide his cheeks hurt, and shadow-boxed his way up the alley. 

When they reached the crowd at the end of the alley, Huey was frowning at them. Well, he was mostly frowning at Ray; for some reason he was giving Ben — Fraser, now — worried looks. "You okay, Fraser?” 

“I’m fine. How are you?” Ben — Fraser — smiled at Huey, a broad beaming smile full of joy and bonhomie. 

“Fine.” Huey looked nervous. "I'm fine."

Fraser toned the smile down, looking worried. “Have you seen Diefenbaker?”

“Your wolf went home with Turnbull. I think he’s pissed at you,” Huey said. 

Fraser looked confused. “Did Turnbull say why he was upset with me?” 

Ray rolled his eyes. “No, because Turnbull's fine. Dief's pissed.” He poked Fraser in the chest. “You owe him for that stunt you pulled. Pizza, donuts…” 

Fraser muttered something under his breath that sounded like, “pay and pay and pay,” then adjusted his hat and turned his attention back to Huey. “Do you need any assistance? You know that I am always happy to help…” 

“No, no, that’s okay. We can manage." Huey held up both hands, like he was warding Fraser off. "Thanks for the offer, though.” 

Ray snickered. If the department got any more ‘help’ from Fraser this quarter, they’d break their budget for the whole year. 

Huey frowned at Ray, grabbed him by the arm, and dragged him off a little way away from Fraser. Great. Now Huey and Fraser were both giving Ray worried looks; concern in stereo. "What about you?" Huey asked. "You okay?" 

"Yeah, fine. Why?" 

"No reason. It’s just that, uh, I know Fraser's annoying, what with the jumping off buildings, and the whole ice-cream van thing, but..." Huey hesitated, then took a deep breath. "Tell me you didn’t punch him." 

“No, I did not punch him!” Ray broke Huey’s hold on his arm, frowning, then winked outrageously and raised his voice enough so that Fraser could hear him. “The things I can do with these hands, I wouldn’t want to risk breaking them on his head.” 

Huey rolled his eyes and snorted, and Fraser blushed and coughed. Ray beamed at both of them, and wriggled his fingers at Fraser. 

“Look, Welsh says the department can’t afford the overtime, or the damages, so you’re both off-duty until Monday.” Huey sighed and shook his head at the pair of them, then shooed them away. “Go on, get out of here, both of you.”

“Great! Hear that, Fraser? We got the weekend off!” Ray grabbed Fraser's hand again and dragged him over to the GTO, shoved Fraser into the passenger seat, then threw himself around the hood and into the driver's seat, and smiled ferally across at Ben. "So, I figure twenty minutes to get to my apartment, what do you think?" 

"Well," Ben said, rubbing at his eyebrow, "from here, with the usual traffic, I have to say I think it would be at least a thirty-five minute drive, Ray." 

"Yeah? You think?" Ray pulled out his sunglasses, put them on, and said, "Fasten your seatbelt, Ben." He laughed, flexed his hands around the steering wheel, and floored it. 

"Ray, Ray, _Ray!"_ Fraser fumbled with the seat belt, and braced himself against the door as the GTO accelerated. "RAY! Is this, this _display_ really necessary?" 

And yeah, Ray thought, you can take the man out of his Mountie pants, but you can't take the Mountie out of the man. 

"Oh, yeah, it’s necessary, Ben. It’s a life or death emergency. We've got a real 'fuck or die' situation here. Now shut up; you’re distracting me from my driving." Ray shot his best bad-boy smile over at Ben, the one that used to work on Stella every time, and Ben licked his lips and looked away, concentrating on the other cars and the pedestrians as Ray passed them and deliberately not looking at Ray. Oh, _yeah,_ he still had it. Ray grinned at the Chicago traffic, beating out a happy tattoo on the Goat’s steering wheel. Twenty minutes? Today, he bet he could do it in fifteen. 

Pulling up outside his apartment, Ray checked his watch. "Huh. Seventeen minutes. Must be getting old." 

The Mountie frowned, and started muttering snippily about red lights, and traffic violations, and the little old lady and her dog that Ray had missed by nearly a foot — eight inches, minimum — and Ray leaned in closer, cupping Ben’s erection with his free hand, which made the Mountie shut up, made Ben suck in a deep breath and moan, loud. 

"Hey, I needed the adrenaline. Had to get you hard again, Ben, didn’t I," Ray said, lowering his voice to a deep, sexy growl, "if I wanted you inside my bedroom as fast as possible, and inside me as fast as possible after that."

Ben swallowed, silenced, and Ray smiled. And, yeah, okay, so maybe it was an evil smile; he was about to get his from the Mountie — finally! After months of will-he-won’t-he, is-he-isn’t-he flirting, and all that inappropriate touching — he was _entitled_ to an evil smile. He tumbled out of the Goat, fast, and danced into his building, smirking as he heard doors slamming behind him. He nodded politely at Mrs. Wyczwak as he danced around her, and turned a laugh into a cough as he heard her coo, "Oooh, Constable Fraser, could you help me with—" 

_"No!"_

Oooh, Ben had a temper! Ray gave Ben about a second before he remembered he was Constable Benton Fraser, RCMP, and wearing the uniform, and — 

"Ah, that is, can it wait until tomorrow morning? Perhaps, half-past ten?" 

Polite Mountie, Ray thought, almost right on cue — except maybe a little slow, still a hint of a growl. Maybe taking more like five or even ten seconds to remember to be Canadian. Ray started taking the stairs two at a time. Oh, tonight was going to be _so good._

Ray swept into his apartment and threw his coat on the couch, crouching down to unfasten his boots and kick them off. He could hear the murmur of voices on the stairs, and then Ben pounding up after him. He laughed, and stripped off his socks, standing up just as Ben arrived. For a moment they stood still, staring at each other, Ben framed in the doorway, Ray with his back to the bedroom. He swallowed and, said, “Close the door, Ben,” and his voice came out husky and deep. Ben’s hands tightened on the door-frame, and then he stepped into Ray’s apartment, hands shaking, and closed the door behind him, oh-so-gently. Locked it. 

Pulling Ben into his bedroom by the lapels of his already-undone shirt — because Ben was nothing if not efficient, which was a godsend when it came to stripping-leading-to-sex, oh thank you, finally! — Ray grinned at him, and asked, "So, how many traffic laws did I violate, Ben?” He dropped his shoulder holster on the bedside table, stripped off his t-shirt, and started rummaging through the drawer he kept his lube and condoms in. “I know you counted, I could see your lips moving." 

"Actually, Ray, that was a traditional Inuit prayer for—" 

Ray dropped his pants — luckily he was going commando today; thank you, whatever deity watches out for desperately horny cops! — then found the lube, kept hold of that, and threw the condoms at Ben, who caught them perfectly, and licked his lips. 

"—Nevermind. Get on the bed, Ray; I’ll tell you in the morning." 

Ben looked Ray over as Ray arched his hips up in a shameless display, applying lube liberally to his own ass. 

"Make that lunchtime," Ben said, his sex-voice growling again, and ripped the condom packet open and rolled one on. 

Spreading his legs wide, Ray threw his arms open, and laughed.


End file.
